


Incentive

by TWriter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Blood, Explicit Language, Forced Prostitution, Knives, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence, explicit content, underground prostitution ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWriter/pseuds/TWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When people don't feel enough is being done, sometimes they offer an incentive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Figure in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to say it now, in case you didn't read the tags. There will be rape and non-con in this fic. Whether or not it is graphic, I haven't decided, but it will be present. I'll warn again when it actually comes up. There's none in this actual chapter, but I didn't want anyone to begin and then realize that they would be unable to continue because of triggers.
> 
> Timeline-wise, this takes place in a slightly-AUish place and time, where Jason died (he has yet to come back to life), Tim became Robin, but Bruce and Dick never really reconciled. They haven't spoken without masks in several years, and with masks all conversations were so brief they might as well have not existed. Otherwise, most elements are canon.

Dick felt the presence behind him long before he felt the need to turn around.

Bat-training resulted in deeply ingrained sense of surroundings at all times, regardless of how long ago training was—or how much you had distanced yourself from the Bat. So, despite years between both training and contact with the legendary vigilante of Gotham, Dick spun to face his adversary.

But there was no one there. Confused, Dick scratched his head and looked around his kitchen. He found nothing out of place. His police uniform lay across the couch where he had left it after picking it up from the dry cleaner the night before, his belt and gun on the coffee table. His bedroom door, barely visible down the hallway, was in the exact same position he remembered leaving it at when he woke up and walked out. His window remained closed, the security system undisturbed; the same held true for the door to the hallway. Not a hair out of place.

So why did he feel the familiar prickle of an unwelcome presence in his apartment?

Slowly, he returned to his coffeemaker, pressing the button to begin brewing the strongest cup he could make. A long patrol as Officer Grayson followed by a longer patrol as Nightwing made for a very tired Dick.

That was his only excuse for missing the obvious that morning as he went about his daily routine. 

Perhaps if he wasn’t so tired, he would have noticed the slight shift on the fire escape outside, where a man periodically peeked through the window at his prey.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Dick picked up his belt, checking that he had all the usual things he had to carry as a police officer. Baton? Check. Pepper spray? Check. Handcuffs? Check. Gun? Check.

Dick still felt apprehensive about the gun on occasion. Despite his knowledge of proper usage and the necessity of having it on his person while on duty, Bruce’s apprehensions were well drilled in to his ex-ward. Regardless of Dick’s physical and emotional distance from the man, he couldn’t help but feel that he was betraying his foster father by carrying the one thing he despised the most. 

Shrugging off the odd feeling of the morning and the heavy weight of the gun, Dick buckled the belt around his waist and left. Locking the door behind him, he made his way downstairs, his movements mirrored by the figure on the fire escape.

In the early morning light, one could almost believe Bludhaven was beautiful. She harbored danger in her streets, each alley holding a possible threat within its depths. But early in the day, before most citizens were on the streets and after most criminals had retreated to their homes, the streets were empty and peaceful, free of the violence that normally reigned.

Of course, this wouldn’t be the case for long. Soon, daytime crimes would begin: calls about domestic disturbances, truancy, bank robberies, and petty theft would soon fill the radio waves as the BPD officers were called all over the city, Dick among them. He and his partner, Amy, would traverse the streets on one of their many usual paths, their mere presence meant to be a deterrent to crime.

Not that many criminals cared that there might be a cop around. With the high number of crooked cops in town, most criminals found it easier to assume that Dick and Amy could be bought. A foolish mistake on their part, but they usually figured it out soon enough.

Dick stopped at the bakery on the corner. As it was Friday, it was his turn to pick up breakfast for the other officers on shift. Quite a few of the other officers went out of their way to avoid bringing in donuts—an attempt to avoid anyone making fun of them for being the usual cliché. Of course, Dick, being who he was, could never resist—he found the look on everyone’s face as he bought and carried several boxes of donuts into the precinct as hilarious the fiftieth time as they had been the first. 

Paying the giggling cashier, and stowing the receipt in his pocket (the girl, looking to be in her early twenties, had scribbled her number across the back, and Dick would decide later if he would call), he picked up his boxes and carried them the remaining three blocks to work. 

Setting them down on the table, he saw Amy shaking her head. “Rookie, I swear, you do this just for the giggles.”

“You know it, Amy. What’s the point of life if you can’t have a little fun?” he responded with a smile, snagging a jelly-filled and taking a bite. Bits of powdered sugar wafted down the front of his shirt, and he attempted to brush them off. Unsurprisingly, he only made the problem worse.

“Really, Grayson. Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually an adult,” sighed Amy, exasperated. Grabbing a napkin, she wet it and began to dab sugar off of her partner’s shirt.

“It’s the boyish good looks, they make everyone question if I’m legal,” he replied with a smirk, laughing as Amy rolled her eyes and continued her dabbing. Times like these, he was reminded that she was a mother as well as a cop.

“Sure, that’s what it is,” she muttered, setting down the napkin. “Think you can manage to keep from making any more messes today?”

“And prevent you from having the opportunity to touch my chest again? Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, feigning shock. Amy snorted, punching him good-naturedly in the arm. 

“Come on, kid. Let’s get a move on.” Amy walked back to her desk, picked up her coffee, and had a sip. Dick finished his donut, careful to keep the mess from his shirt, and the pair walked out the door to the streets of Bludhaven, the citizens slowly waking up to face the day ahead.

The two chatted. Amy told a story about her son’s latest antics while Dick laughed and stifled a yawn. 

And still, neither noticed the figure following.


	2. Officer Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our shadowy figure is revealed.

The two had passed the bakery when Dick realized it.

“Shit. I just realized I didn’t load my gun this morning,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“Rookie mistake, Rookie,” replied Amy. “Come on, we can stop by your apartment real fast, you can load up, and we’ll be back on track.”

The two arrived at Dick’s apartment, taking the elevator to the fifth floor. As Dick unlocked his door, Amy felt the phone in her pocket buzz. “You go deal with that, Grayson. I’ll just answer this out here,” she said, pulling out the phone. Dick shrugged, walking inside.

Looking for his ammo, the prickling sensation he had felt all morning continued. He attempted to ignore it; having felt it all morning for no reason, he was sure there was nothing wrong. It grew in intensity, until the window behind him shattered. He spun around, barely able to register a figure hurtling toward him until he was tackled to the ground. He struggled, but the man on top of him slammed the butt of a gun into his temple, dazing the man he held down.

Amy rushed in, weapon drawn, to find her partner held tight by a monstrously large man. The strange man had at least a foot on Dick in height, maybe more, and was more than double the bulk. Dick was fit and strong, but his body was built for the acrobatics of his youth. Normally, this wasn’t a problem, but on occasion size held and advantage. A black ski mask—how cliché, thought Amy—covered his face.

The man held a gun to Dick’s temple, his finger poised on the trigger. Dick looked dazed, his eyes unfocused as he tried to take in the sight of Amy standing in his apartment, with a gun pointed in his direction. He felt a vicelike grip on his arms, holding him in place as he struggled. He contemplated a flip to kick the man in the face, but he was meant to be out of practice when it came to acrobatics. Anything too advanced might give away his secret identity. The way his arms were held prevented the usual police-taught maneuvers. The gun he felt resting against his temple deterred him from any escape attempts. He was well and truly screwed. 

“Let him go,” snarled Amy, her gun pointed at the bulk of a man in front of her. Her easiest target was the man’s head, but she couldn’t bring herself to shoot immediately to kill—while being a police officer meant that having to kill to save an innocent was possible, it was still a difficult thought to stomach. Hoping that it would not be necessary, she aimed at the man’s forehead, wondering if she could bring herself to pull the trigger if she had to.

“Not likely,” replied the man, pressing the gun more firmly into her partner’s skin. “And I would put that away if I were you. You only have one place to aim, and all it would take is a movement downward on my part and you would miss. And the second your finger moves to shoot, mine will too; and who do you think is more likely to hit their mark?”

Amy held her hand steady, trying to weigh the odds. If she shoots, she will hopefully hit the man. But the man will definitely shoot Dick, and there is no way he could survive a shot to the head at such close range. If she doesn’t shoot, he might still shoot Dick, or will definitely take him somewhere. She doesn’t think the man plans to kill Dick, at least not right away; if that was his plan, Dick would already be dead. Carefully, she lowered her gun to the floor.

“Smart choice,” said the man. Faster than either officer could follow, the butt of the criminal’s gun again hit Dick’s temple, this time knocking him completely unconscious. “If you wouldn’t mind, deliver this to Richard’s father. He’ll be wanting to read it, I’m sure.” He placed an envelope on Dick’s kitchen table before lifting the unconscious man onto his shoulder. Gun still poised to shoot Dick if Amy interfered, he simply said, “Wait two full minutes before moving. If I so much as see a face looking out of this window, I will kill him.” Once Amy nodded, the man carried his prize out the window, quickly walking down the fire escape.

Amy waited three, just to be safe. Although she often prided herself in her ability to remain calm and her general courage in dangerous situations, there was a difference between risking her own life and risking Dick’s. She would do everything in her power to ensure that he made it out of this alive. 

In those three minutes, Amy wondered what the man wanted with Dick. As far as she knew, he didn’t come from money—he lived in a slightly run-down apartment complex and worked as a beat cop. He never mentioned family, and usually attended holidays at her house rather than a family member’s. She never bothered to look him up anywhere. She knew several cops who almost told her rumors about her new partner, but she made a point to ignore whatever it is they were going to tell her, and inform them that she never wanted to hear anything about him. She would form her own opinions about the man as she worked with him. It was a sign of respect that the other officers followed this request to the letter. As a result, she knew nothing about him except that he came from Gotham (he mentioned this when she asked why she hadn’t seen him around town before), that he used to do gymnastics (she asked when she saw him do a particularly impressive flip during a chase), and he hadn’t spoken to his family in years (not to long after this was the first of many dinners with the Rohrbach family). 

After the three minutes were up, she walked to the window, a bit nervous to look out. She glanced quickly to the ground below, both thankful and angry with herself that she saw no sign of the man who took her partner. She glanced at the letter on the table, and her cop instincts finally kicked in. She reached for the radio on her shoulder, and held down the button to call in the events of the morning.

“We have a 633 at Bludhaven Apartments, unit 513B. Suspect armed, victim unconscious.”

“Officer Green responding,” answered the gruff voice of another cop. Amy sighed, grateful to hear from one of the few she could trust on the force. Static filled the air for a moment before Officer Green spoke again. “Rohrbach, isn’t that Grayson’s apartment?”

Amy grimaced at the reminder of the victim. “Affirmative, Green.” 

The radio fell silent as the implications of her response were realized.


	3. Wayne Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy visits Wayne Manor to break the news to Bruce.

Officers filled the apartment, CSI dusting for prints as Amy gave her statement. She felt odd being on this side of it all.

“And then he was gone. He threatened to shoot Grayson if I so much as looked out the window until he was gone.”

“And this was all he left?” asked Detective Martin. The woman held up the envelope, the first thing to be dusted for prints and the first piece to be announced clean of any evidence. No one had opened it yet.

“Yes, ma’am. He wanted me to give it to Dick’s father, but it’s my understanding that Dick hasn’t spoken to his father in years, since before he joined the force. I’m not sure who his father is, let alone where.”

“We have an address and name on file. I’ll be sending an officer—“ started the detective, but she was cut off by the officer in front of her.

“Allow me, Patricia. I’ll take it to him, it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t know, Amy. You should go home; you’ve had a stressful day. Get some rest.” The detective looked apprehensive.

“I need to do this. Give me the name and address, I’ll head over now. I assume he’s in Gotham?”

Realizing that arguing as futile, Detective Martin gave in. “The outskirts, actually. The man’s name is Bruce Wayne.”

The name sounded familiar, and Amy wondered if this was someone she should know. A local celebrity, perhaps? She barely paid attention to news outside of her own world, and knew little of anything beyond the city she chose to live in. “Wayne? Not Grayson?”

Detective Martin looked surprised that Amy didn’t know about her partner’s past. “Dick was adopted when he was child, after his parents died. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire, took him in, but the two apparently had a falling out several years ago. No one’s sure why Dick moved away, but he came here.”

Amy was surprised, to say the least. She really didn’t know her partner, did she? “Oh. Well. Uh, give me the address, I’ll go find Mr. Wayne.”

Amy was handed a piece of paper with an address and phone number, along with the envelope. She nodded to the detective and went to grab her car from the precinct.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She drove through the gates of Wayne Manor, looking up at the mansion in front of her. She couldn’t believe it—Dick Grayson, who couldn’t even eat a donut without covering his shirt in powdered sugar, used to live here.

She parked the car in the driveway and walked up the front steps. She pressed the doorbell, hearing the deep chime echo inside the house. Almost immediately, the door opened to reveal an impeccably dressed elderly gentleman.

“Good afternoon, miss. How might I be of assistance?” said the man in a British accent.

“Afternoon, sir. My name is Amy Rohrbach, I am an officer with the BPD. I am looking for a Bruce Wayne?” she said, the last bit coming out as more of a question than anything.

“Certainly, miss. Come in, I will get Master Wayne post-haste,” he replied. He led her to a sitting room, offered her a drink (she refused), and left to find Wayne.

She heard footsteps and felt the irrational need to stand. Behind the elderly gentleman was a man in his forties, followed by a young teenager. The man—she assumed it was Wayne—looked fit and tall, with black hair like his adopted son. The teen was limber, also with black hair. Both wore suits.

“Master Wayne, this is Officer Amy Rohrbach, with the BPD. Officer, this is Bruce Wayne, and his charge, Timothy Drake.”

The man nodded to her. “Please, have a seat, Officer Rohrbach. Alfred, would you mind grabbing some tea?”

“Absolutely, sir,” said the man, Alfred. With a short bow, he left.

Amy sat, as did Bruce and Timothy. After Alfred brought the tea and retreated, Bruce smiled and said, “To what do I have the pleasure, Officer Rohrbach?”

“Please, Mr. Wayne, just Amy is fine.”

“Then Bruce is fine with me.”

“Well, then, Bruce, I suppose there isn’t an easy way to say this. Earlier this morning, Dick Grayson was taken at gunpoint from his apartment.”

Bruce’s demeanor changed instantly. The smile left his face instantly, and the grip on his tea cup became stronger, the relaxed demeanor gone. “Taken?”

“Yes, sir. I am Dick’s partner on the force, you see. The two of us had gone up to his apartment to grab something he forgot this morning. I remained in the hallway, and heard a crash. I ran in to find a large man holding a gun to his head. I was unable to do anything, and the man knocked him unconscious and carried him away.”

“I thought police knew how to handle hostage situations,” said Bruce. The statement could have been a question, but Amy heard the accusation behind it.

“Without backup, there are few ways to handle such an occurance, Mr. Wayne,” she replied. She hoped that his attitude was simply a result of worry—otherwise, she thought she might know why Dick cut ties with him. “It was either allow your son to be taken, or let him be killed.”

The glare on Bruce’s face softened, if only slightly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I supposed I should be waiting for a ransom call?” His tone carried a weight to it, as if this were an event he was both used to and wished he wasn’t.

“Not quite. The suspect left this, instructing that I give this to you,” she replied. She handed him the envelope, which he opened and read. He paled. “Bruce, if you don’t mind, what does it say?” Wordlessly, he handed it back to her, and she read.

_Mr. Wayne,_

_If you’ve received this, you’ve gotten some unfortunate news about your son. I’m familiar with the feeling._

_Many months ago, my daughter was taken. She was sold as a prostitute, used by more men and women than you can imagine._

_The people who took her send me videos every once in a while, to tell me she’s ‘safe.’ I can barely watch the things they do to her._

_Supposedly, the cops are looking. But I don’t buy it. The people who took her have been around far too long for there to be no leads. I think that, since we aren’t as “affluent” as yourself, they left her to rot._

_So it’s time for an experiment. I have found a person to sell people to—a person the police refuse to bring in, despite the proof that ties him to the crime. I have taken your eldest son, Richard, to this man, to be used as my daughter is._

_I have a theory. My theory is that the cops will look for your son where they failed to look for my daughter. In doing so, they will find my daughter._

_If it doesn’t work, I am sorry for your loss._

There was no signature, and Amy could feel the vomit rising in her throat as she thought of the fate that awaited her partner when he awoke.


	4. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick awakes to a harsh welcome committee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the first instance of rape. It does get graphic toward the end of the chapter. If you would prefer not to read that, stop after they arrive to Dick's room. If you would like to message me for a quick summary of anything you missed by not reading that section, feel free.

Dick woke painfully, dropped harshly onto his side. Before he could move, hands gripped his arms and instincts took over. Slamming his head back, he felt his skull connect to a nose with a crunch. He heard curses thrown behind him, but he ignored them in favor of scrambling to his feet, graceful despite his disorientation. He looked around him, taking in the room he found himself in. The walls were blank and windowless, the only door blocked by the man who had attempted to grab him. Two other men were in the room as well, approaching with caution, but the threat evident.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Dick. The men refused to answer, not that he expected them to. One, the man who had grabbed him from his apartment, suddenly lunged for him.

Dick dodged out of the way quickly, only to feel the strike of a Taser through his uniform shirt. Electricity seared through him and he dropped to the floor. He felt hands grab him again, and found he was unable to do anything.

“This one is feisty, he’ll bring us a pretty penny,” said the man with the Taser. The other man, the large one, loosened his grip marginally. Dick felt cuffs latch onto his wrists, tight enough that even he couldn’t slip out. Without the lock picks he had in his other uniform, he was stuck. 

The large man let go, stepping back with a look of guilt that didn’t go unnoticed to the other two. “Too late to go back now. You want your daughter back, this has to happen, or all of you die.”

The large man gulped visibly. “Sure. Just, just tell me where she is and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Let us secure this one and we’ll take you straight to her, don’t worry,” said the man holding on to Dick. Dick began to regain feeling in his arms and legs, only to feel the sting of the Taser once more. He convulsed, the agony roaring through him, until it was over and he lay panting on the floor. 

“Take this one to room 17. I have buyers ready as soon as tonight, if we have him ready,” said the man with the now broken nose. “If he misbehaves, take care of it.”

All but the man with the Taser left. Dick struggled, weak from the multiple shocks. He felt himself lifted—Am I really light enough for every Joe Shmoe to lift me? He thought—and carried out the door, unable to struggle.

He was brought to a new room, fairly similar to the last. The only difference was the presence of a bed, a toilet, and a sink. The bed had no sheets, only a bare mattress and a pillow so thin that it might as well not have been there. He was dropped onto the mattress, his arms secured to the headboard. His feet were similarly secured, leaving him completely spread over the bed, unable to move. 

“What is going on?!” he demanded, glaring harshly at the man standing above him.

The man slapped him across the face before grabbing it tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “Listen to me well, Richard. The more you fight this, the more painful it will be.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I personally don’t like gags, but I will use one if you don’t shut up,” he threatened.

Dick weighed his options. He had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. He decided to remain silent.

“That’s better. Now…” the man straddled Dick’s midsection, undoing the button on his jeans. His half-hard cock was freed, and the man moved forward. Dick moved his head to the side, avoiding looking at the man on him. The man grabbed his hair, pulling his head until his mouth was inches from the cock in front of him. He held his mouth closed as tightly as possible.

“Now, now, Dick. What did I say about fighting it? Perhaps there’s a more agreeable bitch out there…what about that partner of yours? Or maybe that little brother?”

“If you touch them, I will kill you,” snarled Dick.

“Then I suggest you open wide. And if I feel teeth, there will be consequences.”

Dick grimaced, opening his mouth. He forced himself not to gag as he felt the weight on his tongue. A glare from the man told him what he expected. He began to half-heartedly suck, until the man got impatient.

The man thrust forcefully into Dick’s mouth, shoving his head back into the mattress. The thrusts increased in pace, cutting off Dick’s air supply. He struggled to breathe around the obstruction in his throat. He lost all sense of the world around him, only aware of his inability to breathe. His vision grew dark around the edges, until suddenly, blessedly, he could breathe. 

He felt the weight on him shift lower and lower until it rested between his legs. He forced his eyes open, still breathing heavily, to see a vicious smile on the man’s face. “Lesson number two, Richard, is the importance of receiving. Now, not all of our guests will be as kind as me, so we best get started.”

The man reached for Dick’s pants, and he resisted the urge to shift away. The man undid the button and unzipped his slacks, pulling them around his ankles. The man grasped him firmly, painfully, and gave him a firm squeeze. Dick winced.

Suddenly, the man grabbed his hips and pulled him toward the foot of the bed, stretching his arms and bending his legs. He reached between Dick’s legs and brushed a finger along his entrance. With no warning, a finger was shoved inside him, and Dick gasped. The discomfort was worsened as the man moved in and out before adding another. The process repeated, and he added a third. After deeming this sufficient, he spat a few times on his hand, ran it along his cock, and forced himself inside.

The pain was excruciating. Dick attempted the calming techniques from his training, but each movement dragged him out of his focus. He felt each push and pull, felt the friction of skin against skin, and wondered how the man felt any pleasure. There was nothing but pain.

At some point, he must have blacked. Suddenly, he fell the man inside him stiffen, and then the flood of the man’s orgasm filling him. He wanted to puke.

After a moment, the man pulled himself out. He stood, patted Dick on the stomach, and said, “Your first guest will be here in an hour.”

Dick held back his tears until the door firmly shut behind the man.


	5. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy, Tim, and Bruce have a short discussion, and a mysterious visitor makes an appearance.

Amy wondered if it was possible to literally wear a hole in the floor.

If so, Bruce would. He’d been pacing since he handed Amy the letter, and that was three hours ago. She understood nervous energy, but this was bordering on disturbed.

The teenager, Timothy, hadn’t spoken a word since she arrived. He had read the letter over Bruce’s shoulder, and had visibly paled. Suddenly, however, he sat next to Amy.

“So, you work with Dick?”

Amy jumped a bit at the question. She had forgotten, for the moment, that Dick didn’t see his family. She wondered how well he knew the boy sitting next to her. 

“Yeah, I do. He’s my partner.”

“Does he like being a cop? Cause it seems like he does. I guess he likes his job more than us.” Tim looked surprised that he had let that last sentence out.

“I know he loves his job, but I’m sure he loves you all just as much, if not more.” Amy had a thought. “Tim, why doesn’t Dick come here for holidays?”

Tim’s face darkened. “He and Bruce fight a lot, mostly. It’s kind of stupid, really. I don’t think either of them realize they’re basically agreeing, just phrasing it differently. And, well, a few years ago, right after Bruce adopted me, he and Dick got into a huge fight. I still don’t know what about. But Bruce got so mad that he told Dick to give Alfred his keys. And Dick just turned around and left. We didn’t see him for a really long time after that.”

Amy was surprised, to say the least. She never really saw Dick angry; sure, he didn’t like the criminals they arrested, but even arrests were handled with a bit of snark and a cackle. Jokes were made at the expense of the guy in the backseat. But seriously angry? Amy focused, and she couldn’t remember a single time. She imagined it might be a little scary.

“How long ago was that?” she asked.

“I think I was…11? So about four years ago.”

Just before Dick joined the BPD. Interesting.

“What has the BPD done so far?” interjected Bruce, standing still for the first time in hours. 

“We looked for prints and DNA evidence, but the guy managed not to leave any, as far as I know. I imagine they’ll be working with GPD to compile evidence about the prostitution ring.” After reading the letter, Amy had called in the details to Detective Martin. The woman had been shocked, but took the information as well as could be expected. 

“And we don’t know if GPD was even looking for it before, so there could be nothing.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve heard good things about Commissioner Gordon. I’m sure he’s been looking. The guy who took Dick just didn’t understand that there is only so much the police can do.”

“Jim is a good man, sure, but GPD is full of corrupt cops. Throw the right amount of money at them and they’ll follow commands like dogs.”

“Having worked in a precinct with corrupt cops for years, I can promise you that there is every possibility that you’re right. But one good cop can balance out dozens of bad. I should know, your son is one of the best cops I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what kind of man Dick is. I know that he’s a good one.”  
“I figured you could do with a reminder, considering you two haven’t spoken in years.” Amy was tired of this man. She understood worry, but after Tim told her what happened four years ago? What kind of father kicks out his own son? She wasn’t sure he deserved to be worried.

She had a thought. “You’re rich, I assume?”

Bruce snorted. “I suppose.”

“Then this is hardly the first time he’s been kidnapped, I’m sure.”

“He’s been abducted about twice a year between the ages of eight and eighteen,” answered Bruce.

“So what do you normally do when that happens?”

“The ransom call usually is made within a few hours, and the police track him down.”

Before Amy could reply, the doorbell rang.

The trio walked toward the front door, attempting to see past Alfred. The visitor, a large man who looked vaguely familiar to Amy, made eye contact with Bruce.

“Mr. Wayne? I’ve made a terrible mistake.”


	6. The Appearance of a Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick receives a less than kind visitor of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I have posted today, so make sure you see Chapter 5 first.
> 
> This chapter contains another very graphic rape scene, as well as some graphic violence and non-consensual drug use. As with the last instance, feel free to ask for a summary if you do not wish to read that scene. If this is the case, I recommend you stop reading at the line "Mark slowly walked to the bed." There are vaguer mentions of rape and prostitution earlier than that, so be forewarned. Dick is being put through some truly disturbing shit, for which I am incredibly sorry.

                Dick didn’t know if he had ever been worse.

                Hours had passed. He wasn’t sure how many, but he could only imagine, judging from the number of “guests” who had dropped by. He attempted to keep count, but lost track somewhere around thirteen.

                He pulled weakly against the chains around his wrists. He had long ago given up slipping through—even by dislocating his thumbs, the ring around his wrist was too tight. And he had nothing to pick them with.

                His clothes lay in tatters on the floor. One man, a particularly large one who enjoyed causing fear, had cut through each piece slowly, the knife dragging lightly against the skin underneath. Eventually, when he ran out of clothing to cut, he took the knife to Dick’s hair; he had no idea what it looked like now, but it couldn’t be good.

                He felt something wet between his legs. He idly wondered what it was, and figured it was either semen or blood. He wasn’t sure he cared anymore. Perhaps if it was blood he might bleed out and die, and be away from this forever.

                “Good morning, sunshine,” said a voice from the doorway. It was the man with the broken nose. He was tall, tan, and blond. He carried himself like a businessman, full of confidence. “How are you feeling today?”

                Dick couldn’t muster up the energy to reply. He wasn’t sure how he would have. Normally, with a quip, but he didn’t feel the desire to laugh, even at this man’s expense.

                “Well, someone is a little bit grumpy, aren’t we? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

                “I suppose, if someone had let me sleep,” responded Dick, surprising himself.

                “I see there’s still some fight left in you yet. We’ll have to fix that. Now, I hear you’ve been asking about what was going on. I suppose if you haven’t figured it out by now, you’re so dense you’ll need it explained to you.” He smiled, as if doing Dick a great favor. “Well, my dear Richard, welcome. My name is Mark, and you are my latest commodity.

                “You see, I am a self-made man. I built this business from the ground up. A few years ago, I gained a young girl. I believe her name was Mary, but that’s irrelevant. I offered a few men, men of a certain sort, the opportunity to use her as they wished. For a price, of course. And as the money came in, I thought to myself, _But Mark, if you can make this much from one girl, imagine if you had a selection?_ So I began to collect. Boys, girls, people of all ages. I bought this lovely building to store my collection and to run my business. I’ve built quite an interesting group, and I began to branch out. I found that if I made parents a bit, shall we say, concerned, for their missing child, they might offer me another in exchange. So I get a new commodity, I dispose of the original, and threaten to turn the parent over to the police. I get a new piece every once in a while, and an excuse to dispose of those that are ruined! It’s a win-win!

                “That, of course, is how you arrived. I simply convinced a father that the GPD wasn’t looking for his daughter. I’m sure they were, I’m just exceptionally difficult to find. I was in the mood for something more, shall we say, exotic and expensive, so I told him to take one of Bruce Wayne’s boys, so the GPD would actually look. Poor sap bought it. He brought me you, saw a dead body, and went home guilt-ridden and terrified about what he had done to you.”

                “So, now what? You just sell me off like a piece of meat until you’re bored with me too?”

                “Of course not, Dick. You’re much more important to me than that. I’m more than willing to share, of course, but you’re mainly here for me. Don’t worry. I’ll tell dear old dad you’re just fine. I’ll keep him up to date with our activities, so he knows how much fun we’re having.”

                Mark walked slowly to the bed. Dick tensed, unsure of what the man might do. He felt a needle slide into his arm. “What did you just do?” Dick demanded.

                “Just a little something of my own creation. A mixture of an aphrodisiac and a pain enhancer. You’ll be incredibly aroused momentarily, and begging for it, but the actual event might just be the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced. It should be hitting you right…about…now.”

                Dick became aware, suddenly, of how close the man next to him was. He sweat, and felt a stirring in his groin. It became quickly uncomfortable, and he watched as his cock grew.

                Soon, he was fully aroused. Mark smiled, an evil glint in his eye, and placed a hand on Dick’s hip, a single inch from his base. He resisted the urge to squirm.

                “Now, Dickie, just let yourself enjoy this part. This is the fun part.” He slowly, gently, ran the tip of his fingers along Dick’s length. Dick whimpered.

                “Would you like more, Dick? All you have to do is ask. But I do find those noises incredibly irritating.” Suddenly, a ball gag was forced into his mouth. “Now, if you don’t like what I’m doing, just tell me to stop.” He laughed at his own cruel joke.

                The touches were gentle and agonizing. Dick felt every brush of fingertips, teasingly light. He struggled to find release, despite every fiber of his being wishing he didn’t have to. He tried every trick he ever knew to calm a boner, but nothing worked. Several slow, agonizing minutes passed. Mark checked his watch.

                “Ah, if my calculations are correct, it’s about time for my fun to begin.” He lifted himself onto the bed, placing himself between Dick’s leg. He unzipped his pants and held his cock against Dick’s asshole. Dick tried to relax—being tense had caused so much pain. With a sudden lunge, Mark was inside him, and had a hand around his throat.

                    If the times before had been painful, this was agony. He felt as if his entire body were being ripped to pieces and tossed into a fire. Knives were stabbing his insides. Razor blades filled him. Acid filled his lungs as he tried to breathe, but the hand around his throat prevented it. He struggled, the bite of the handcuffs feeling as if he were going to lose his hand at any moment. Each thrust brought a new wave of agony, each pull the drag of a serrated knife. He tried to scream, but couldn’t make a sound. Suddenly, the hand and the gag were removed, and he screamed. “ _Please, please, stop! Let me go! Stop!_ _lasa-ma sa plec! Va-rog!”_

His cries did nothing to stop the man. Dick couldn’t think, could barely breathe, past the pain. He thought he might pass out. He thought he might die. He wondered if that was what the man planned on. 

                    Eventually, it ended. He sobbed. He felt the last dragging pull of skin on skin as Mark pulled out. The leaking of fluids, which had never truly stopped, worsened. He still wasn’t sure what it was. Mark grinned.

                     "I see you enjoyed yourself,” said the man, nodding toward Dick’s abdomen.  

                   Dick glanced down, finding a sight he hadn't expected. His abdomen was covered in what he could only assume to be his own semen. He had orgasmed despite the pain, hadn't even felt the pleasure through the agony of it all. The thought bothered him. He tried to tell himself that it was simply drugs and anatomy, that he couldn’t control it. He had the ability to control certain biological functions, anyone with his training would, but it hadn’t been his focus in those moments. Despite the logic behind his thoughts, backing it up as he knew it would, he couldn’t fight the shame. His face grew red, and tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. He had fought it, he fought it so hard...had he actually come from what this man did? He didn’t enjoy it, but his body seemed to think otherwise. He let his head fall back, unable to look at the source a moment longer. 

                    Mark placed a hand in Dick’s hair, brushing back the sweaty locks. "Does it bother you, what I did? Or perhaps, what _you_ did?” He chuckled humorlessly. "Don’t worry, my boy, you’ll become used to it soon enough. You’ll be begging for it soon. But first, let me give you a little something to remember this moment.” Mark pulled a small switchblade from his pocket and looked down at the man before him, as if determining the best location.

                     He finally chose an area above his right nipple, placing the point gently to the skin. Slowly, carefully, he applied pressure, carving into Dick’s skin. Dick screamed, the remaining drug in his system multiplying the pain by thousands, but Mark simply held him with his free hand, the younger too weak to fight the grip. After what seemed like hours, he removed the blade, smiling at his handiwork. Blood poured freely from the wound, and Mark made no effort to stop its flow. He wiped the knife on Dick’s face, before dipping it in the semen on his abdomen to repeat the process. Dick only closed his eyes, attempting to move away, only to meet the resistance of the knife along his face. Mark folded the knife, placing it back into his pocket. "Until next time, Richard.” 

                    Dick waited for the sound of the door closing before opening his eyes. He felt the blood and semen drying on his face and stomach. Steeling himself for the sight that awaited him, he craned his neck to see the damage to his chest. It took a moment, but he was able to make out the lettering through the blood.

                     It was the number one, followed by the date and time. Dick could only assume it represented the time of the act. He forced himself not to cry, however, at what he found underneath.

                     It was the number two, alone. Waiting for a new date and time to be filled in.


	7. A Story and a Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious man tells Bruce and Amy a story, and a video reveals what is happening to Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this might be repetitive, as Bruce and Amy are finding out some stuff we already know. 
> 
> A (kinda?) off camera rape appears at the end of this. Not particularly graphic, but obvious.

 

“What mistake are you talking about?” said Bruce. The group, along with the visitor, had settled back into the sitting room.

Amy studied the visitor. He was large, unusually so. He clasped his hands, fingers pulling each other as if unable to sit still. He had short hair, buzzed close to his skull. The clothes he wore were wrinkled, as if he hadn’t changed in a long while. The clothes themselves were familiar...  

"No freaking way,” she said. She stood, wishing she had kept her gun on her person before arriving at Wayne Manor. The men around her turned to look at her. „Bruce, this is the man that took Dick!”                    

Faster than eyes could follow, Bruce rose and launched himself at the man. Despite the difference in size—although fairly large himself, Bruce was still smaller than this man—Bruce quickly gained the upper hand, wrapping his fingers around the other man’s throat and pinning him to the wall. Tim stood behind him, as if he knew this side of Bruce.                     

The billionaire growled. "Give me one reason I shouldn’t break every bone in your body.”                    

Amy was alarmed. This man, who seemed harmless enough, had raised Dick? Was threatening a man?                    

"I’m sorry,” gasped the man. "Let me explain.”                    

Bruce held on a moment longer before releasing his grip. The large man crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Bruce towered over him, the rage rolling off of him in waves. "Talk."                     

After regaining his breath, the man began to speak, words flowing together in his haste to tell his story. "My name is Albert Holley. Earlier this year, I came home to find my daughter was missing. She’s barely sixteen, her name is Lizzie. I called the cops, and they searched the place. Said they couldn’t find nothing. About a week later, I got a package. It was a video tape. I-it was my daughter, and some guy, h-he w-was...” Albert paused, a hand covering his eyes. He took a deep breath. „It was disgusting. I almost threw up. And at the end, it cut to this guy, and he started talking to me. Telling me that Lizzie was safe, and well taken care of, and all she had to do was provide s-s-services. And he told me all these things they planned to do. And the tape cut off.                    

"I got more every week or so. Every time, it was just Lizzie, some guy, sometimes more than one... Until about a month ago. I always watched, I hoped that maybe there might be a clue, and then I handed them over to the cops, who couldn’t seem to do nothing. But at the end of this, the guy was back. He hadn’t been on since that first video. And he starts talking again, about how I can get Lizzie back. Says that all I gotta do is provide a replacement. And then he starts talking about how the cops aren’t trying, cause we’re just a poor family from Crime Alley. And he says something about maybe if I was rich, they’d actually try, and it cut out.                    

"I don’t know what I was thinking, I swear! I just wanted Lizzie back. So I tried to figure out who was tge best choice to take, and I thought of, well, you, Mr. Wayne. But I didn’t think I could get to  you, so I figured someone related to you. And I chose Richard. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do, you have to believe me! I just wanted to save my daughter!”                    

Bruce looked at the crying man, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he spoke. His voice was soft, a lot kinder than Amy had anticipated. "Mr. Holley, what happened to Lizzie?”                    

"I gave them Richard, and they promised to take me to her. They drove me out to the edge of town, to an abandoned building. Told me she was inside. So I went in, and they drove off. I found her, and she was dead.”                    

The room was silent for a moment. Tim had slipped off early in the story; Amy assumed he couldn’t stomach hearing what the men had done to Lizzie, and would do to Dick. She almost wished she had followed.                     

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Holley.”

 The other man gaped in surprise at Bruce. “I should be apologizing to you, not the other way around! I cost you your son!”

“Yes, and because of that I have an inkling of what you have felt for the past few months. And because we have this understanding, I hope we can help each other stop these monsters once and for all.”

“Of course. This is all my fault. I need to fix what I’ve done. It’s what Lizzie would want.”

At that moment, the group was interrupted by the reappearance of Alfred. “Sir, a package has arrived for you.” He handed the younger man a large envelope. Upon opening it, Bruce paled.

"Bruce, what is it?” asked Amy.

“It’s…a DVD. And a letter.” Bruce immediately went to his desk, where he found a box of latex gloves. At Albert’s look of confusion, Amy explained, suspecting what the billionaire was doing.

“It must be from the people who have Dick. We may be able to fingerprints off of it, but handling it with bare hands are likely to distort any evidence.”

Bruce carefully removed the letter, leaving the DVD for last. Carefully, holding only barest edges, he unfolded it and began to read aloud.

“Dear Mr. Wayne,

“At this point, you are likely aware that a certain someone is missing. Don’t worry, I’m taking excellent care of dear old Dickie. We had a lovely time just a few hours ago, in fact. He seemed to really enjoy it.

“I’ve included a special video, just for you. It was an absolute pleasure to put together for you. Enjoy the show!” Bruce finished the letter, a look of disgust upon his face. “There’s no signature.”

“Do you think…?” Amy couldn’t bear to answer the question.

“It’ll be like the ones I got. It’s…It won’t be pretty, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce glared at the DVD laying on the table before him. “I know. But I have to watch, if only to make sure he really is alive.” He looked at the three people in front of him, only one of which knew him well at all. “You don’t have to stay, any of you.”

Albert took this as an opportunity to leave, unable to face the turmoil he had caused. Amy and Alfred remained, both with expressions making their intent clear. With a nod, Bruce inserted the DVD into his computer, and pressed play on the screen that popped up.

Amy gasped at the image before her. Her partner, her _friend,_ naked and beaten. He was cuffed to a bed, the once white mattress stained with blood. The high-quality—of course it would be high-quality, the bastard who did this wanted to make sure they didn’t miss a single awful detail—revealed puddles of semen mixed into the blood. Some stains were obviously older, the blood brown and dry, the other fluids crusting along the fabric of the mattress. Other places showed fresher evidence, smearing as Dick moved in discomfort. Unidentifiable stains and fluids covered the man and mattress as well. If Amy had to guess, she’d say that some was definitely urine. More of it might be alcohol, if the various empties surrounding the bed were any indication.

A door opened, revealing a tall man. He faced away from the camera, too smart to allow it to capture his face. He stood next to Dick, and the two spoke for a moment, but there was no sound. Not yet, anyway.

A few moments later, the man produced a syringe, injecting the young man he had captured. Dick’s fear was palpable, and Amy’s heart clenched. Never had she seen her partner scared. He stared down the barrel of a criminal’s gun with ease, disarmed a thug with a knife with a smile that never wavered. And although she knew his fear was understandable, was expected, was completely _justified_ , the foreign emotion on her partner’s face dug a knife into her very soul.

“My word,” said Alfred, a hand covering his mouth. “What do you suppose that—“

Alfred’s unfinished question was answered with Dick’s growing erection. Amy looked away, mildly uncomfortable with the visual. She forced herself to return her gaze to the screen, however, when a burst of sound emitted from the speaker.

Dick’s screams caused the assembled trio to cringe, all three wishing they could make it stop. Most of it was wordless cries, but a few pleas escaped as well. A few were in English, but toward the end another language broke through, one Amy couldn’t identify.

“Romani,” answered Bruce, sensing Amy’s confusion. “He speaks Romani as a first language, and it slips out when his brain doesn’t realize most people don’t know it. Like when he’s excited and can’t get the words out fast enough, or…”

“Or when he’s in so much pain he can’t think,” finished Amy. She recognized a few familiar syllables, now that she was paying attention to it. She thought some might be curses, matching the muttering she often heard from Dick when he dropped a file or missed a chance to catch a crook. Neither happened too often, but she put the pieces together all the same.

The screams dwindled for a moment, the man assaulting Dick pulling back. He gestured to the mess across Dick’s abdomen, and never before had Amy been able to read her partner so well.

_He’s ashamed,_ she thought angrily. _That man, that monster attacks him, rapes him, and has the audacity to shame him?_

Her thoughts were cut off by renewed screams from the computer, the man’s body blocking whatever he was doing to cause Dick such pain. He moved away, a mocking “Until next time, Richard,” inciting greater fury into the assembled audience. As the door closed behind him, three sets of eyes were drawn back to the figure on the bed. Despite the sharpness of the picture, the group was unable to see the markings through the blood until Bruce zoomed in.

“That’s only a few hours ago,” whispered Amy.

Bruce’s face fell into his hands. He scrubbed his eyes, starting a bit as Alfred placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Amy felt intrusive, an outsider in a moment meant only for family. She stepped away from the desk, registering that Bruce clicked a few buttons and ejected the disc. Carefully, he placed both in the envelope.

“These should go to the BPD. They might be able to get something off of it.”

“I’ll take them,” said Amy, wanting something to do after what she just witnessed. She needed to help Dick, and that began with getting some evidence.

She gathered the envelope, wishing a good day to Bruce. Alfred walked her to the door, requesting she drive safe and call if she needed anything.

Amy sat in the front seat of the police cruiser, the envelope sitting in the seat that would normally hold her partner. He always tried to con her into letting him drive, but she put her foot down after the first and only time she handed over the keys. The speeds at which that man drove, it was a miracle they didn’t crash. She smiled at the memory, the abashed grin on Dick’s face as she forcefully reminded him that being a cop didn’t mean he could drive ninety miles an hour for no reason. If— _when, Amy, not if_ —they got Dick back, she’d let him drive any time he wanted. She’d even let him play with the sirens. _Hurry home, Grayson. This is a time sensitive offer._

She left the manor, headed toward Bludhaven, unaware that a man in a bat costume stalked the underground cave below her, out for blood.


	8. A Discovery

She wasn’t sure how she ended up outside Dick’s apartment. She stopped in the office, flashing her badge and requesting to be let in. The landlady, an Irish woman called Clancy, opened the door without question. Before leaving the cop to do her work, Clancy had requested to be kept in the loop.

“He’s a good lad. Shame that this happened to him, I do hope he’ll be okay,” she had said, looking forlornly at the mess left by CSI.

“Grayson’s made of tough stuff. He’ll be back, and driving you up the wall before you know it,” replied Amy.

Clancy nodded, asking that Amy just let her know when she was done so the door could be locked up. After that, she descended the stairs, leaving the police officer to her task.

Amy stepped over the threshold, noting that CSI had left quite a bit of debris from their investigation. When dropping off the newest bit of evidence, she had heard that the apartment was considered “useless”—no evidence could be gathered, and CSI would not return. After demanding that she be told immediately if anything new came up, she left the precinct, only to find herself where this whole debacle had begun.

A quick text to her husband told him to put the kids to bed without her. Although he didn’t like how involved she became in her work, he understood and accepted it. Knowing that Dick was the victim only made him more understanding, telling Amy he would handle stuff at home, just make sure Dick got home safe and sound.

She glanced around at the mess. Unable to simply wait, and knowing that nothing found would lead to anything they didn’t already know, she began to clean up. Better for Dick to come home to a clean apartment. She carried some dirty clothes to his bedroom, assuming she would find a hamper in the closet.

Her foot bumped against something metallic, the ringing filling the air. She glanced down, surprised at what she found.

It was a piece of black metal, in the shape of…a bird? Dropping the clothes on the floor, she bent to pick it up. The edge pricked her finger, deadly sharp. It looked almost like one of those throwing things the vigilante used. What would Dick be doing with something of Nightwing’s?

Uneasily, she picked up the clothes, trying to shove the weird possession out of her mind. She walked to the closet, wondering if a hamper could be found inside. She opened the door, dumping the garments into the basket she found. She bent to grab a sock that had fallen to the side, placing a hand against the interior wall to keep her balance.

Standing, her hand brushed against a raised portion of the wall. Confused, she inspected it carefully, unable to see anything particularly odd about the wall itself. On a hunch, she walked to the room next door, the bathroom. Walking between the two, she realized that her guess was correct. There was an odd space between the closet and the bathroom, as if there were a secret compartment in the closet.

Returning to the closet, she again inspected the wall. She found a flashlight on Dick’s dresser, and pointed it at the place she guessed the compartment would be.

She stopped. What was she doing? She came here to clean up a bit, not snoop in Dick’s stuff. If he had a secret compartment in his closet, was it any of her business? Of course not! Dick could keep whatever secrets he wanted, it wasn’t her job to invade his personal life.

She turned off the flashlight and stepped back out of the closet. She continued to clean, picking up clothes and dishes littering the entire apartment. She wished she was surprised—the kid couldn’t eat a donut neatly, why would he keep his apartment clean?

Throughout the time she spent cleaning, her mind wandered continuously to the odd compartment in his closet. What on earth could Dick have to hide? He wasn’t the most open of people, sure, but he never struck her as the type to hide something in an actual secret compartment in his closet. Did this complex come with secret compartments in the closet? If so, that would be odd. If not, did Dick really break his lease just to build a secret compartment in his closet? There was no way he could get his security deposit back if he did, that would definitely be considered “destruction of property.” What was so important that he had to lose hundreds of dollars and build a secret compartment for?

Unable to take the curiosity anymore, she put away the last of the clean dishes and returned to the closet. Picking up the flashlight once more, she found the abnormality, a crack in the wood too straight to not be done purposefully. Looking around, she saw a tool box. She pulled a flathead screwdriver from the mix, placing the end into the crack to use as a lever. Carefully, she forced the wood—which she now realized was a well concealed door—outward, revealing the contents.

Amy gaped at the items in front of her. Unbidden, the pieces began to fall into place. The gymnastics, the sudden disappearances, the near-constant exhaustion. This…this was crazy!

She reached out to feel the fabric of the suit, the blue bird across the chest a striking contrast to the black of the rest. She couldn’t believe it, but at the same time she could. Dick Grayson is Nightwing.

“THAT LITTLE SHIT!”


	9. The Reveal

Batman sat in front of the computer in the cave, the various screens showing feed from all over the Manor. In the center was the video he had received today, a copy saved before he handed the disc over to Amy. Despite the pit that grew in his stomach with every viewing, he continued, hoping to find a clue. After pulling the single clip of speech from the unknown man, Batman had muted the recording, unable to stomach the sounds of Dick’s screams. Another screen ran the speech through a program that might be able to match the voice to a name, but Bruce wasn’t holding out hope for that angle. The man’s voice would have to be somewhere online with a name attached. Unless he was one of those celebrity YouTubers Tim watched, it was unlikely.

“Hey, Bruce—“ Tim froze, his next words forgotten as his gaze fell upon the video on the Batcomputer. Bruce rushed to shut the window, but it was already too late. Tim had seen his brother.

Tim struggled for air, a panic attack overtaking him as he thought about what he just saw. The world around him disappeared, his vision filled only with the image of his brother with a man on top of him. The blood was everywhere, and Dick’s face was stretched in a scream of pain. For a moment Tim could have sworn he heard it, screams echoing off the walls of the cave, until he realized they were his own.

He became aware of Batman—no, no, Bruce, the cowl was off, it was Bruce—calling his name. Strong arms wrapped around him, so different from the hugs he had received from Dick. Despite the first Robin’s fight with and avoidance of Bruce, the young man had spent some time with Tim, although that amount decreased after The Fight. Tim wished for nothing more than for the arms around him to be his big brother’s. He’d give anything.

Slowly, Tim calmed down. Bruce wasn’t sure what to do. Tim had seen a lot of the evils of the world as Robin, but there was something very different about seeing a loved one hurt, particularly in the way Dick was. Hesitantly, Bruce brushed the tears from Tim’s face. “I’m gonna find him, Timmy. I’m gonna bring him home, I promise.”

Tim wanted to believe that, he really did, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the Dick they got back would be the one they lost.

After a few more moments of silence, Bruce asked, “What are you doing down here? I told you to stay out of the Cave tonight.”

“That cop lady’s here again, Amy? She wanted to see you right now, said it was really important.”

“Do you know what she wants?”

“No. Alfred’s covering for you being down here, said something about being out in the woods out back. He’s pretending to go get you, so you’re supposed to head out the outside entrance and meet him by the back door.”

Bruce quickly changed, leaving his suit in a haphazard mess in the locker room. He had been planning to go on patrol after he finished searching the video, if only to keep an eye on the criminal population for any clues about his wayward ward.

He found Alfred where Tim had said he would, and the two returned to the sitting room. Amy was once again on the couch, although no longer in uniform. She carried a purse, which she quickly stuffed something into and closed.

“Amy, is everything all right?” asked Bruce, sitting down across from the woman.

“Relatively. I was hoping you could pass along a message for me.”

“A message? To who?”

“The Batman.”

Bruce froze. He carefully smoothed his features, his expression now one of confusion. “How on earth would I know the Batman, Amy? Are you feeling ok? There’s a lot going on, perhaps you should rest—“

“Cut the crap, Bruce. I know.”

“And what, pray tell, do you know?” asked Bruce, his eyes hardening.

Amy reached into her purse, pulling out one of Dick’s Wingdings and placing it on the coffee table. “I know Dick is Nightwing. I know that Nightwing used to be Robin, Batman’s partner. Most people think Batman and Robin are father and son. Which means _you_ are Batman. I’d hazard a guess that Tim is the latest Robin.”

Bruce was somewhat impressed. Few people knew their identities, and only Tim had ever figured it out on his own. “How long have you known?”

“About an hour and a half. I found his suit, and put it all together.”

“Impressive. So, what was this message you wanted to get to Batman?”

“I assume you’ll be launching your own investigation to find Dick. And I want in.”

“Absolutely not.”

Amy scowled. “Think again, Bruce. You _will_ let me help.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because if you don’t I will out each and every one of you. Which I don’t think you would like.”

It was Bruce’s turn to scowl. He didn’t like this. He never involved civilians in his investigations. Even Commissioner Gordon was not completely involved, rarely alerted until the situation was handled. But his hands were tied.

“Then I suppose we’re in business. Follow me.” Bruce rose, walking toward his study once more.


	10. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short look at how and what Dick is doing.

The days passed, and Dick grew more and more exhausted and desolate. He wanted nothing more than to be out of his personal hellhole; he didn’t particularly care how he got out, he just wanted out.

The number of cuts along his chest grew day after day, the timestamps listed telling only a fraction of his suffering. The latest, number nine, was scrawled into his stomach, the blood still wet. The tenth space was blank, the foreboding number at the top of a soon-to-be second column next to the first. Each day was the same, the same drug, the same procedure, the same torture. Rarely was he able to get a chance to rest between the visits from Mark and his various “guests.” Generally, the days passed in a haze of pain until the final guest took his leave, and Dick collapsed in exhaustion, only to wake to Mark and his syringe the next day. This moment of calm was a commodity Dick would not waste.

Dick pulled against the handcuffs, the metal digging into the cuts on his wrists. He knew the attempt was futile, but couldn’t resist the urge to try. Unsurprisingly, the metal held.

Until it didn’t.

The bed, an older piece made of rusted metal, had a headboard made of bars. The cuffs were locked onto the center bar, passing behind it. It screwed into another bar that connected to posts at each corner. Although it appeared to have been rusted together, the constant movement of the days past had weakened the rust’s hold. The bar shook and slid with each movement of his wrists. He smiled.

Carefully, he maneuvered until both hands gripped the pole he was attached to. He twisted the metal, unscrewing it from the bar until it came off, allowing him to slip his cuffs over and off. He sat up slowly, the aches making themselves known with each jolt.

He looked down at the cuffs holding his feet, realizing they wouldn’t be as easy to free. He twisted, laying on his stomach to inspect the headboard, hoping for a jagged piece of metal to use as a lockpick.

Instead he found a wire, apparently intended to keep a screw from falling out. He held back a relieved laugh, thankful that the men hadn’t thought to acquire better quality beds. He pulled it off and got to work, quickly becoming free of the cuffs. Wrapping the stained sheet around himself, he stood. The dizziness almost caused him to collapse, and he held onto the bed until it faded. Mustering the last of his strength, he walked toward the door, and found that, for a leader of a successful underground prostitution ring, Mark was not overly intelligent. He left the door unlocked.

He slipped into the hallway, the sheet held tightly in a fist. He hoped to find his clothes, which had long since disappeared, but prioritized escaping above modesty. He wasn’t sure how much time he had.

Dick was never sure how he made it out. He remembered running down hallway after hallway, and even knocking out a few men along the way. He made turns at random, wishing this was a proper business with EXIT arrows pointing the way. But suddenly he was outside, the air fresh and the sun bright, blinding him after who knows how long in darkness. He paused, only a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, and felt the familiar burning pain of a Taser, knocking him to the ground in the alley.

He convulsed, the pain sapping him of the strength the adrenaline had gained him. The shock ended, and he fell limp, occasionally twitching from residual electricity.

“I must say, that’s the farthest anyone has ever gotten. Too bad it didn’t work,” said Mark, standing above the exhausted man. “But don’t worry, there’s a special surprise for those who cross me.” A swift kick knocked Dick into full unconsciousness, and Mark called another man into the alley.

“Take him to my personal room, and set up the video chat. He may not care for himself, but I’m sure he won’t like the sight of his father watching.”

Nodding, the man lifted Dick, and carried him to the farthest corner of the building, Dick none the wiser to the events about to occur.


	11. Video Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A masked man makes contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warning apply. Not graphic, but Mark is not a very nice guy.

Amy and the others were growing restless.

Over a week had passed since Dick’s disappearance, with nothing to show for it but a few disgusting videos. Amy placed herself in charge of making sure Tim didn’t see any; from what Bruce said, he hadn’t handled the accidental viewing well. Her maternal instinct drove her to protect him from what she could, and she’d be damned if Tim had to witness any of this. Tim didn’t fight her too hard on it. As much as he wanted to help Dick, he knew that watching the videos was not the place he was needed.

Sadly, she couldn’t spare herself. Much like Bruce, watching the videos sent every few days was torture, but she forced herself to watch for clues. Any sign of Dick’s location, health, or a way to get him back could appear at any moment, so she forced herself to watch as he was brutally raped. More than once she had vomited at the sight, and knew Bruce had barely managed to hold back his own vomit on more than one occasion.

The arrival of another envelope brought the group into action. Bruce began fruitlessly dusting for fingerprints and checking for DNA as Amy took Tim back up to his room. When she had returned, Bruce was looking at the paper, puzzled.

“What is it?” she asked.

“They’ve changed their method. There’s no DVD, just instructions to go to a specific website.”

“What’s on the site?”

“I’m not sure. We’re about to find out.”

Bruce typed the URL into his browser, and moments later a black box filled the screen, a button with the words START CHAT in the center. The two looked at each other, and Amy silently stepped out of the webcam’s view. Best for them to assume Bruce had no help. He clicked the button.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. I hope you’re well.” A man in a ski mask appeared on the screen.

“I’ve been better,” replied Bruce, falling into the concerned father persona seamlessly. Amy wondered if he was finally allowing the truth to appear.

“I believe Richard would agree with that sentiment. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying his time here.” The man stepped to the side, revealing a welcome-but-unwelcome sight.

Dick looked much the same as he had in the past videos, but his state of unconsciousness was of concern. The bed was different than the one he had been in previously, but his arms and legs were chained in a similar fashion. Blood still coated his chest, as did the various other bodily fluids that had covered him since this ordeal began. Amy found it unlikely he had been given the opportunity to shower.

“Let him go,” growled Bruce. Amy wondered how similar he sounded as the Batman.

“Oh, I won’t have him soon enough. But I thought the two of us could have one last hurrah, and who better to witness than daddy dearest? Dickie here tried to leave earlier. Didn’t even want to say goodbye. Lucky for the two of us, I found him in the alley and brought him back inside. But he won’t be able to leave again. Cause you know what I’m gonna do, Bruce?”

The men stared at each other for a beat before the man continued.

“First, I’ll give him a bit of his favorite drug. Then, I’m thinking I’ll slice him up a little, give him a few broken bones, but I won’t touch him for a long while. Let him get right to the edge of orgasm, then give him just enough pain to bring him back down. Make him beg, and when he does he’ll end up screaming before he gets what he wants. Get him so close it will be the biggest and greatest he’s ever had in his life. Then, right before I take him over the edge, I’ll stab him through the heart, so that the last sensation he feels is me fucking him, but he’ll never get release.”

Bruce paled. “Why?” he forced out, his voice hoarse. Amy struggled to keep from cursing the masked man on the screen. Her hand itched for her gun. Two weeks ago, she hesitated to take the shot. Now, she wanted nothing more than to shoot this monster between the eyes.

“Because, Bruce. I hate you.”

“How can you hate me? I don’t even know who you are!”

“You destroyed my life! You cost me everything! I don’t have to explain this to you. It doesn’t matter if you know why I hate you, all that matters is that you know you brought this on yourself, and more importantly, you brought this on your son.”

A movement behind the man caught Amy’s eye. Dick twitched, is eyes still closed. Slowly, his hand moved in his cuffs, holding up fingers. He held up three, then crossed two, and finished with four. Two and four?

Amy attempted to catch Bruce’s eye, to see if he also caught it. The smallest of nods, imperceptible if you weren’t looking for it, assured her he had.

“Let him go!” roared Bruce, his arms thrown onto the desk on either side of the monitor. Amy jumped, not expecting the outburst. His hand gripped a pen, and scribbled on the paper as he continued to curse at the man on the screen. _Second Street and Fourth Avenue, there’s an unused building._

“I will end you,” Bruce growled.

“By then, it will be too late. You better stay right there, Bruce. The second you leave, he dies. I want you enjoy the show.”

Bruce growled, and Amy stood on the opposite side of his monitor to gain his attention. _I’ll go get him,_ she mouthed.

_ABSOLUTELY NOT,_ he scribbled. _IT’S TOO DANGEROUS._

_I’m a COP, this is what I DO!_ She mouthed back. Voices rose from the speaker as the masked man “woke up” Dick.

_You’ll get yourself killed!_

_And if I don’t try, Dick will DIE!_

_You’re a civilian, we don’t involve civilians!_

_I’m a cop!_ Her face filled with rage as Dick began to scream. _I am going._ She spun to leave, but a movement of Bruce’s hand stopped her.

She saw the resignation in his eyes as he wrote one last message.

_Take Robin._

She nodded, then stalked off in search of Tim. They had to get there, and fast.


	12. A Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Robin arrive at the address Dick gave them.

Amy found Tim in the kitchen with Alfred. The pair looked up as she walked in.

“We know where Dick is.”

Relief filled the faces in front of her. “Is Bruce going to go get him out?” asked Tim.

“Not exactly. You and I are going to go. Bruce has to stay online.” Amy gave a quick summary of what was going on upstairs, leaving out a few more disturbing details.

Tim looked pale, but determined. “All right. I’ll change. We can take my motorcycle.”

The two split up, and Amy went to the room Alfred had offered during the search. She quickly changed into her uniform, figuring it might be best to treat this as a typical case. A quick trip to her car meant she had her gun back. Alfred had requested she keep it somewhere not in the manor, and she had obliged.

Tim drove up the driveway, the Robin suit bright in the quickly fading sunlight. “Let’s go.”

The drive was quick, but tense. Tim pulled the motorcycle into an alley—Amy had to wonder if it was the same alley Dick had escaped to—and shut it off. “All right. Did Bruce have a plan?”

“I’m going to go in there like this is a normal bust. You’re only to go in if necessary. I’ll cuff the guy, we can call the GCPD when we get Dick out of there. Should probably have ambulances ready.”

“I don’t know, Amy. I feel bad letting you go in alone.”

“Too bad, twerp. I’m going.”

Amy was gone quickly, sneaking in the (for some reason, unlocked) back door.

“I see why Dick likes her. They’re the same person.” Tim began the necessary calls, hoping this plan would work.

Amy walked the halls with her gun drawn. She felt the pit in her stomach brow as she heard the now-familiar scream of her partner.

Following the sound, she stopped in front of an unmarked door. Mustering all her strength, she kicked the door in forcefully. “FREEZE!”

The man above Dick held the knife to the injured man’s throat, and Amy was reminded of the original kidnapping from days before. Risking a glance, she wished she had arrived sooner. Dick was covered in fresh blood, new cuts mixing with old. He was barely conscious, looking at Amy in confusion.

“Drop the knife, and I won’t shoot.”

“Drop the gun, and I won’t slit his throat.”

The two stared each other down, neither willing to stand down. The man called over to the monitor, and Amy suddenly noticed Bruce’s horror filled face on the screen. “Bruce, I didn’t think I had to even tell you not to call the police. I assumed it was a given.”

“I didn’t, I swear.”

“The lady in blue implies otherwise. I’m gonna hafta—“ his thought was cut short as power to the room cut. The monitor went dark, the concerned face of Bruce Wayne fading to black. Tim landed in the corner, barely visible in the light filtering in from the open door to the hallway. The man turned to face the new presence, the knife moving from Dick’s neck. Seeing her opportunity, Amy took the shot, landing a hit on his right shoulder. He fell like a sack of potatoes, the knife falling harmlessly to the floor.

Amy holstered her gun and ran to Dick, who was breathing heavily in pain. Tim threw a discarded sheet across Dick’s lower half, and Dick’s breathing picked up.

“Dick? What’s wrong?” asked Amy, placing a hand on his shoulder. He screamed before gritting his teeth.

“The drug…” he forced out. “It’s a…” Amy quickly removed her hand, remembering the nature of the drug coursing through his veins. It was obviously an aphrodisiac. Dick’s jaw loosened slightly. “Pain enhancer.”

“It’s an aphrodisiac AND a pain enhancer?” demanded Tim.

Dick’s eyes widened, as if suddenly realizing who was here. “Amy? Ti- er, Robin?”

“I know, Dick. Tim, go call Alfred. We need a car, no way Dick is gonna ride a motorcycle right now.”

“Yeah. I’ll go call him, signal is better outside.” Tim bent to cuff the unconscious man, leaving Amy and Dick alone.

“I’m going to see if I can find the keys to these cuffs.” Amy quickly dug through the masked man’s pockets, finding the key easily. She paused. “Will you be okay if I do this? I’d prefer to not leave you cuffed like this, but if it’s going to make you…uncomfortable…”

“I’ll be--nnggggnn—fine, Amy,” he groaned. Amy made quick work of the cuffs, leaving Dick to gingerly force his stiff muscles to move. She thought about helping, but was concerned she might hurt him.

Tim returned fairly quickly.

“Alfred is sending Bats with the Batmobile. He’s going to take you two back to the cave, and I’ll stay here with these dirtbags to make sure the GCPD gets them all. Quite a few got out, unfortunately, but I managed to snag a few before I got to you all.”

“Nice work, Timbo,” coughed Dick. He made to stand, only to fall weakly back onto the pillow.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Rookie?” said Amy, only just managing to not grab his shoulder again.

“It’ll be easier if we meet Bruce outside. And I’m a bit tired of beds. Been spending entirely too much time in them, okay? I’d like to not be in one for a while.”

The other two flinched. The reminder that Dick’s pain was deeper than the wounds they could see stung. Amy was struck once more by a desire to have gotten there sooner.

“All right, Grayson. I want it on the record that I don’t think this is a good idea, but why break tradition? Your stupid plan it is.” She waited, giving him a moment to brace himself and nod before helping him stand. He wobbled, his mouth held firmly shut as he forced back a pained scream. He tried to ignore the feeling of Amy so close to him, the brush of the fabric against him as he wound the stained shit around his waist, and tried not to think about how much he wanted to feel something stronger.

Amy led him down the hall, and he walked outside for the second time that day. This time, the sky above him was dark, and the little light from a streetlight did nothing to light up the alley. Amy carefully leaned Dick against the wall of the building, and he allowed himself to sink to the ground. Sitting was painful, but he couldn’t find it in him to stand anymore. Days of pain, hunger, and blood loss had weakened him. He was given enough food and medical care to keep him alive, but not nearly enough to keep him healthy. He was feeling the effects of his kidnapping strongly as the pair waited in silence for Batman’s arrival.

The Batmobile skidded to a stop at the mouth of the alleyway, headlights illuminated the waiting duo. Amy began to help Dick to his feet, only to stop as he emptied the meager contents of his stomach. He idly wondered how much of it was food, and how much was semen, and vomited again at the thought.

Sooner than he realized, he was being lifted. He opened his eyes to see the familiar outline of Batman’s cowl, and remembered how often patrol used to end with Batman carrying him to the car. It had stopped when he became a teenager, able to handle the long nights with growing ease as he aged, but he was surprised to find that he missed the comfort. He maneuvered himself, trying to find a comfortable position in the haze of the pain, and settled for a spot that put little pressure on his ribs— _maybe broken_ —and allowed him to rest his head against the armored chest of his former mentor. After days of captivity, being used as a toy and treated like trash, he allowed himself to let down his guard. Batman was here. He would be fine. He drifted to sleep.

Amy followed the two men, watching as Batman placed the now-sleeping Dick in the backseat. He closed the door, gestured for Amy to sit in the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel.

Amy stared, wondering if any other non-Bat had sat in the Batmobile. The dash was covered in buttons, a little screen occupying the space a radio would normally be found. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Dick, his face still contorted in pain, resting semipeacefully. He was a bit too tall to stretch out completely across the backseat, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

Amy returned her focus to the front when she heard Tim’s voice. He was on the screen, talking to Batman.

“GCPD are en route, and this guy’s injury has been dealt with. He’ll make it to the hospital just fine, and then he should have a one way ticket to a jail cell.”

“Good work, Robin. We should be back at the Batcave soon. As soon as you are done finishing up, I want you to swing by the clinic, pick up Leslie. The sooner, the better. Batman out.” Batman pressed a button, and the screen went blank. Another press, this time of a little button with the letter “A,” brought up Alfred’s worried face.

“We are on our way back now. Prep the medbay. Robin is to bring Leslie over as soon as possible, but we have to start working on his injuries sooner than that. He’s lost a lot of blood, probably concussion, heavy bruising on wrists, ankles, and neck, lacerations just about everywhere. I haven’t checked for sure, but I suspect from his demeanor that he has multiple broken ribs as well, and his limp suggests something wrong with his left leg. He is currently unconscious, hopefully simply due to exhaustion. I don’t believe he has had water in a long while, and probably no food for even longer. Prep an IV along with a blood transfusion.”

“Yes sir, Master Batman.” The screen went blank once more.

“He calls you ‘Master Batman’ when in costume?” asked Amy, her first thought falling out of her mouth without prompting.

“It is best that I, as well as Dick and Tim, keep our night life identities separate from our daytime ones. In order to keep it that way, once a mask is on, we only use our code names. No real names while in the field.”

“The inside of the Batmobile is considered the field?”

“Anything that isn’t inside the Batcave is considered in the field.”

The car was silent, the only sound being Dick’s heavy breathing and occasional groans of pain. Amy broke the silence with another question, unable to keep the concern out of her voice. As a cop, she knew the answer, but as a friend, she hoped she was wrong. “Is Dick going to be okay?”

“Physically, he should recover. Beyond that, it is hard to say. As a cop, you are familiar with rape victims?” Amy nodded. “We must prepare for the worst, and hope we are overprepared.”

The remainder of the drive was silent, as the two conscious passengers fretted over the third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's never enough fics of Amy kicking ass. Anyone know any good Amy being a BAMF fics for me?


	13. To the Batcave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group returns to the Batcave with a gravely injured Dick in tow.

Tim brought his motorcycle to a stop, and Leslie bolted straight to the section of the Cave set aside for medical. Dick was laid out on a bed, completely unconscious. Amy stood to the side, her gaze alternating between her partner and the Batman’s base of operations. Alfred and Bruce had attended to the injuries they could, wrapping cuts and applying creams to burns and bruises. Two needles in his arm connected to a bag of blood and a bag of fluids, attempting to replace what had been lost.

Leslie took charge immediately, shooing all but Alfred from the area. Bruce collapsed onto the chair in front of his computer; Amy took places standing nearby. All that was left to do was wait.

The wait lasted hours, until Leslie finally left her charge to speak with the worried and exhausted trio. Tim had long since changed, but Bruce remained in his uniform, having only removed the cowl. Tim and Amy had settled on the floor not long before, not willing to go far enough to search out chairs. 

“He’s stable, for the most part,” began Leslie, forgoing any niceties. 

“What are his injuries?” requested Bruce.

“It’s almost easier to name where he wasn’t injured. Three, broken ribs, one dislocated; cigarette burns all over both arms and across his chest, as well as signs of the use of a Taser on multiple occasions; a broken nose; six broken fingers; a dislocated wrist; a long, infected slash along his left thigh; bruises covering most his body; infected anal tearing; and, well, a fairly long list of dates and times carved into his chest, about thirteen in all. He hasn’t woken at all, likely due to what appears to be dehydrations and malnourishment. How long was he there?”

“12 days,” answered Amy, her voice rough and cracking.

“We’re lucky it wasn’t longer. I can’t say he would have survived much longer in this condition. He is, like I said, still asleep. I have him on an IV of antibiotics, and Alfred is cleaning him up now. He’ll likely be asleep for at least the next day or so, perhaps longer. When he wakes up, I’d recommend moving him up to his room. He may need to see someone, a counselor of sorts. I know this can conflict with your secret identity issues, but the amount of trauma he has gone through, mentally and physically, will leave a lasting impression. I can look into finding one who can be discrete, unless you have someone you know of. I have tested for STDs, of course, and the preliminary tests are negative, but certain ones take longer to develop, so I’ll need to check again in a few weeks.” Leslie looked each of them in the eye before turning her gaze to where Dick lay just out of eyesight, looking mournful. “It will be a while before he wakes up. I’d recommend you use this time to rest. I’ll be upstairs.”

Leslie had barely finished speaking before the group jumped to their feet and ran across the Cave. Rounding the corner, they found Dick. He had been cleaned up, but he bruising all over gave an impression that he was still covered in dirt; he had been dressed in a pair of loose sweatpants, with bandages covering quite a bit of what they didn’t. 

Bruce fell into the chair Alfred had left next to the bed while the older man finished gathering the rags to be cleaned. Amy watched him idly, wondering if that amount of blood and dirt would ever truly come out. She glanced back to Bruce, and found a shocking sight.

In one hand, Bruce held his son’s, careful of the IV. He ran the fingers of the other through the shaggy hair of his son. His face betrayed the worry he had felt for the past two weeks, the worry he still felt as he waited for Dick to wake up.

Tim nudged Amy, and the two left the father and son in the Cave.

**

It was another 27 hours before Dick fully woke up.

Bruce had been convinced by the other three to rest, and Alfred had forced him upstairs four hours before. Amy had volunteered to watch over Dick, and Tim had settled with his laptop nearby.

Amy heard him wake before he saw it; the heart monitor he was hooked up to began to beep rapidly, and quicker than she could comprehend Dick was attempting to sit up. His eyes flitted across the room, seeing it but not taking it in. Amy grabbed his arm unthinkingly, attempting to calm the obviously upset man. “Di— “

Dick ripped his arm from her grasp, gasping in pain as it jostled his injured ribs. A hand raised, poised to attack, before he finally got a good look at the person standing next to him. “Amy?” The hand lowered. “How did I—“he broke off with a groan, the adrenaline fading as he felt his injuries.

“Easy, Rookie,” Amy said, helping Dick lay back against his pillows. Tim, who had abandoned his laptop upon realizing Dick was awake, grabbed the remote for the hospital bed, raising Dick’s head slowly. 

“Ugh, where am I?”

“You’re in the Cave,” answered Tim, grabbing a glass of water and helping Dick to take a sip.

“How’d I get—What are YOU doing in the Cave?” Dick’s gaze returned to Amy, his eyes wide as he recognized that the police officer had found out his best kept secret.

“You should really clean up and put away your toys, Nightwing, or a helpful friend might find a Wingding on the floor when cleaning up your apartment,” she answered, and grinned as she watched his expression turn from confused to shocked to incredulous. She felt the grin fall as she recalled why exactly they were all here. “Dick, what do you remember?”

The heart monitor picked up as Dick’s heart raced. The look on his face changed, discomfort and a bit of fear taking over his features before he smoothed it over with a mask of indifference.

“Being in Mark’s bed. I had tried to escape, but he caught me. I think I remember you showing up, but the rest is a blur.” The words held no inflection, as if Dick was describing what he ate for breakfast that morning. 

“You didn’t miss too much. Batman gave us a ride home, and Tim got Dr. Thompkins to patch you up. You’ve been asleep ever since, just over a full day,” said Amy, meeting Dick’s monotonous tone with an overly chipper one of her own, attempting to combat the gravity of the situation. “Speaking of, Tim, maybe you should go tell Bruce that Dick’s up?” she requested. Tim looked ready to argue for his right to stay nearby, but Amy shot him a look. Tim grumbled as he stalked up the stairs, and Amy thought she heard something about “Teach Bats a thing or two,” but ignored it in favor of the more pressing matter at hand.

Dick was forcing himself further upright, wincing all the way. Amy rolled her eyes. “Rookie, could you sit still for five seconds?”

“I think you and I both know the answer to that, Amy,” said Dick, flashing a familiar, if strained, grin. 

“Dick, are you okay?” asked Amy.

Dick flinched. “A little sore, no worse for wear. Could probably be back to our beat in a day or two.”

“As incorrect as that assessment is, you know that wasn’t what I was asking.”

“I’m fine, Amy. You’re overreacting.”

“Dick, you were gone for days—“

“Not my first kidnapping.”

“You nearly died—“

“Also not a first.”

“Dick, you were ra—“

“I noticed that, thank you.” The temperature of the room seemed to drop.

Amy froze, shocked by the tone. Despite the situation, Amy couldn’t help but wonder if she had finally seen the Nightwing that Bludhaven criminals fear. Dick’s eyes, normally a bright, shining blue, turned narrow and icy. Against her better judgement, she pushed forward.

“Dick, I’m sorry, but you can’t honestly tell me you’re perfectly fine after that! I saw it, I saw what they did to you! People aren’t fine after once, and you expect me to believe you’re fine after ten times?!”

“What do you mean, you saw it?” Fear flitted across Dick’s face, quickly masked by a façade of anger.

“They sent us…videos. Of you, and…that guy.”

Amy didn’t think Dick could get any paler, but he managed. He abandoned his attempt to hide behind anger, his breaths growing shallower and faster as Amy’s words sunk in. Soon, he was hyperventilating.

Amy struggled to remember what she was supposed to do in a situation like this. In any other case, her next action would be automatic, but in this moment, it was as if her brain shut off. 

This was Dick. A friend. The bravest guy she had ever known, struggling to breathe under the weight of the last two weeks.  
Moments later, as Amy finally gathered her wits enough about her to coach Dick into taking deep breaths, Bruce crashed into the room, Tim and Alfred hot on his heels. 

Amy stepped back, allowing Bruce to take over. With a gentleness that continued to surprise her, Bruce whispered to his estranged ward. She couldn’t make out the words, but the soothing tone of his voice brought a layer of calm over the room. Dick’s breaths slowed, growing deeper and smoother as Bruce continued his whispering. Tim stood off to the side, looking as surprised as Amy felt. Alfred, on the other hand, attempted to hide the smile hinting at his lips. As the elderly butler looked at Bruce and Dick, Amy found herself wondering if she found herself seeing a glimpse their relationship before it all fell apart.

“Are you okay, chum?” asked Bruce, hesitantly brushing the hair from Dick’s sweaty forehead. The younger man flinched at first, but soon settled once more before nodding. 

A quiet fell over the group. Dick’s gaze remained planted firmly on the ground, refusing to look at any of the individuals standing around him. Tim fiddled with the hem of his shirt, looking a bit uncomfortable. Alfred’s face showed a bit of worry breaking though his British stoicism. Bruce’s brow was furrowed, looking at the young man in the bed before him. 

Amy suddenly felt like she was intruding. Over the past two weeks, she had spent more time than not at the manor with Bruce and his family, trying to figure out how to save Dick. Thankfully, the precinct had given her some time off as a result of Dick’s abduction. 

The family in front of her was nowhere near what she had imagined for Dick. For the most part, she didn’t think of who had raised him; she assumed someone decent, in order for Dick to grow up the way he had. But a thought had always tickled at the back of her mind, wondering what had caused Dick to separate himself so completely from them. She still wasn’t completely sure—what Tim had told her was enlightening, but not necessarily the full story—and she planned on finding out. 

But for right now, she was tempted to live the cobbled-together family to themselves. A final look at Dick showed that he hadn’t taken his gaze from the ground. She doubted he would notice if she was there or not. With a nod to the ever-observant butler watching her, she slipped out of the room.

She needed to see her kids, and make sure they knew how much she loved them.


End file.
